Daddy Tell Us the One AboutPart Two
by Ryla Dante
Summary: A wee!chester sequel. When it's requested, you just have to do it, hehe. John tells the boys yet another ghost story, this one a bit different than the last...


A/N: Well, you asked for it...and you got it...This is part two to "Daddy Tell Us the One About..." I just hope this was what you wanted, hehe...yet another little ghost story from 'Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark' by Alvin Schwartz...Let me know what you think of this one as well...(oh, as you read the ghost story, you will see why I chose this one...I thought it appropriate.)

Disclaimer: Yet again CW and Eric Kripke own Sam, Dean and John...Alvin Schwartz owns the ghost stories I have used...

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John finally got out from under his boys, still laughing hard. They struggled to get all the leaves and branches out of their hair, and what a sight they all were. John yanked a small twig from Sammy's hair, a tiny piece lodging itself at the base of his neck. John wished his son had shorter hair like Dean. It would be so much easier to manage at times like this. He and Dean futzed with it, and finally got the broken piece of wood out, tossing it onto the ground. Sam giggled, then flopped onto the log. 

"Okay boys, I have one last story, then it's off to bed. The moon wants to go to bed just as much as I do, so let's get cracking." Dean smiled at his father, then sat down next to Sammy. Sam leaned into his brother, his head on Dean's chest. Sam could hear the older boy's heart beat, and it was racing with anticipation. Sam placed an arm around Dean, and Dean lifted his own, tugging the small boy closer. He placed a small kiss on the brown locks, then looked back at his father.

"Okay, now the last one was just to get you loose. But this one is the real story, the pièce de résistance so to speak." The boys eyed their father. Those last few words lost all meaning to them. John smiled.

"In other words boys, the best of the best." They nodded, then let him continue.

"In this story, a wealthy man decides to go hunting in an area of Northen Canada that few people had. He first traveled to a trading post for a guide, but no one would help him, for it was too dangerous. Then he finally comes across an Indian named DéFago. This man needed money badly, so he told the hunter he would take him."

Just as before, the boys were leaning in, eyes wide, wondering where this story was going to go. Dean still held Sam with his left arm. The boy squirmed a bit, but stayed right where he was. After last time, he wanted to be sure he was not going anywhere.

"Well," John went on, "They camped near a frozen lake in the snow. After hunting for three days, they had nothing. At the end of the third day, a windstorm hit. Laying in their tent, they listened to the howling wind and trees whipping back and forth outside. The hunter wanted to see all of this, so he opened the tent flap, and was startled to see nothing moving, yet he could hear everything stirring. The more he listened, the more he could hear the wind actually calling the Indian's name. 'Da-faaaaaaaaay-go' the wind beckoned, 'Da-faaaaaaaaay-go.'

Sam and Dean were literally on the edge of their seats now. As their father drew the man's name out, they shivered. This was definitely going to be a creepy story, there was no doubt about that one, yet they were too into it to truly care.

"The hunter was so sure he had lost his mind, yet DéFago had moved from his sleeping bag. He was huddled in the corner of the tent, his head in his arms. The hunter questioned him what was going on, but DéFago simply said it was nothing. Yet the wind called again, making DéFago even more upset. 'Da-faaaaaaaaay-go, Da-faaaaaaaaay-go.'

"Then, DéFago lept to his feet. He tried to run for the snow, but the hunter wrestled him to the ground, screaming that he could not be left there all alone. Then when the wind called again, DéFago broke out of the hunter's grasp and into the darkness. He was screaming as he went. 'Oh, my fiery feet, my burning feet of fire...' Then his voice disappeared."

Sam gasped, slamming his head into Dean's chest. Dean gulped loudly, gripping the log tight. He looked down at his brother, knowing that now he _absolutely_ would have to stay up with him, and not just for Sam, but for himself. Sam whimpered a bit, then peaked an eye at his father. John half smiled, not sure if he should continue.

"Go ahead daddy, I'll be okay. Deany will protect me." Sam looked up at his big brother, smiling sweetly. Dean's face matched his own at that moment, then he ruffled his hair.

"Uh, huh. But who's gonna protect me dude?" They all laughed, and John shook his head.

"Don't worry, we can all protect each other. Just make sure to keep the tent zipped up and the flashlights on." They all laughed again, and John continued on with the story.

"The next morning, the hunter followed DéFago's tracks. They went through the woods, down toward the lake, then onto the ice. What struck him as odd was that DéFago's steps seemed to get longer and longer. They seemed so long, that no human could have made them. It was as if something had helped the Indian hurry away."

"The hunter followed the tracks onto the lake, but here they disappeared. At first, he thought DéFago had fallen through, but there wasn't any hole. Maybe something had yanked him skyward, but that made no sense. As he stood there, the wind picked up as it did the night before, and this time he heard DéFago's voice calling from above. '...My fiery feet, my burning feet...' Yet the hunter could see nothing."

Dean watched his father so intently that he did not realize that he had let go of Sam. His brother grunted beside him, grappling for his shirt. Dean jumped, then breathed deeply. He patted his brother on the shoulder, then pulled him onto his lap, even though Sam was much too big, age and size wise. Sam threw his arms around Dean's neck and held on tight. He nuzzled his head into the side of Dean's throat, and could feel his brother's pulse. It was fast and irregular. Dean was also sweating. Sam pulled back, wiping the wetness off his cheek, then placed his head on Dean's shoulder instead.

"The hunter rushed back to his campsite and packed as fast as he could. Leaving some food for his guide, he headed out. It took him weeks to finally reach civilization. A year later the hunter returned. He went back to the same trading post as before, and no one could explain why DéFago had disappeared that night. Nor had they seen him since them. One man had told the hunter that maybe it was the Wendigo. It comes with the wind and drags you along at great speed until your feet and more are burned. It carries you into the sky, then lets you drop. The man said it was an Indian tale though."

Dean was way into this now. He had been reading up about Wendigo's, and how they are ruthless hunters. They eat their victims, and can only be killed with fire. It was so ironic his father would tell this story. Dean was loving it, whilst Sammy was burying his head deeper in Dean's shoulder.

"While the hunter was at the trading post, a few days later an Indian came in and sat by the fire. He was wrapped in a blanket and wore a hat so the hunter could not see his face. The hunter thought it could be DéFago, so he asked him this, but there was no response. Then the hunter asked if he knew anything about the other Indian. Yet again, nothing. He began to wonder if the man was sick, maybe needed help. So he asked if the man was alright. Still nothing. Moving forward, he lifted the hat to get a better look at the man, when he screamed. Under the hat was nothing but a pile of ashes..."

Dean's eyes went wide. He sat back, suddenly shaking his head. That image raced through his mind, freaking him out. Sammy squealed, letting go of his brother and jumping from his lap. He rushed at his father. He was pouting. John suddenly felt like a heel. He scooped up his son and held him tight.

"Sammy I am sorry. I did not mean to do that to you kiddo." Sam fell against his father, and a second later, John sat back, a shocked look on his face. Sam had blown a raspberry at him. Now his son was smiling, looking as if the last fifteen-twenty minutes had never taken place.

"See daddy," Sammy placed both of his hands on John's shoulders. John gave his son a strange look, not sure what to expect from his seven year old.

"You are not the only one who can be an idiot!" John and Dean gaped at Sam's words. Sam giggled as John turned him around and swatted his behind in play, making him giggle even more.

"Idiot am I? We'll just see about that little man!" Sam jumped down, and John ran after him, Dean in tow. They chased each other until they were completely worn out, then John carried a sleepy Sam into his Pacman sleeping bag, zipping him up. He rolled over and pulled a small teddy bear to his chest, then fell asleep. Dean sat next to him, getting his pyjamas on. John stood outside staring up at the moon. It had been so long since he had appreciated anything so simple as the orb that gave them a night light. He watched it linger in the velvet sky, when he felt a tug on his shirt. Turning around he saw Dean behind him. He picked the boy up and hugged him tight.

"You know what Dean?" Dean looked up at his father, a man who had changed so much in the last few years, who seemed so happy lately. Dean smiled, and returned the hug, laying his had at his father's neck.

"What's that Dad?"

"You two boys are the greatest things that has ever happened to me. I could never have made it this far after your mother passed if it wasn't for you guys." John sniffled a bit. "You two just make my life worth living. I pray that we are always this happy, and that you can grow up to know what this is like." John set Dean back on the grass. He knelt in front of him, he arms still wrapped around him.

"Don't ever take times like this for granted Deano. Just take one day at a time, because they are so precious, and enjoy them as much as you can. Once they're gone, that's it." John stood, then sighed. He knew what he was saying was important, but to an eleven year old, it was just gobbledy gook. John ruffled the boy's hair, smiling. Dean nodded just the same, taking every word in as best he could.

"Well, we better get to bed. Just don't wake your brother. He's a pistol, I swear." They chuckled, then John tucked Dean into his Knight Rider sleeping bag, and then slipped into his own. A flash of Mary entered his mind, the light night he had with her: Her smile, her smell. A small tear fell from his eye, then as he looked at his two sleeping boys, he smiled and the image vanished. John kissed Dean on the head, then drifted off, having his best night of sleep in years.


End file.
